Only God Can Tell Me About Myself
I don’t need anyone to tell me about my imperfections. I’m happy with my defects.
No need to worry about rejection. I don’t present myself to those with standards.
I’m a random witch. A negress nomad. I roam in my own home. I don’t just stay
in my lane. I slay in my lane. Opinions of opposition, I ignore.
Don’t want the negativity. Cuts into my productivity. I don’t want stress
on my mind. But, I could care less. People are always harping
on things that don’t concern them. Their lives desire the business of others.
I am no one’s business but my own. A Nubian queen on her throne.
If you want to be in my world, there are rules. Don’t abuse my personal space.
Don’t judge my unique tastes. Criticizing my style will fall on deaf ears.
Complaining about my ways will get you a blank face. Don’t lean on me to be
your twin. Imitation is not flattery. I find it a sin.
Lord knows I am stubborn as fuck. Hell doesn’t want me. I’d redecorate.
Heaven wishes me a long life, knowing I’d kicked down the pearly gates.
I won’t be quiet in such a serene place. Silence is not my golden rule.
I am a woman. No one’s fool. Representin’ myself, on my own.
A Tooth from My Comb broke off In My Hair
after Maya Washington
It fell into the sink. It laid there in defeat. Bested by my tendrils. Dark brown coils twisted so tightly that not even a hard-plastic comb could break through the barrier of braids. My hair would not be detangled - not today.
I stared at my head. What to do with this mass of hair? It had been washed and conditioned. My hair felt soft to the touch. Why had my comb, an old friend, failed? Its tooth at the bottom of the sink like a fallen soldier.
My hands were the last line of defense. I was happy that I had removed the acrylic nails a few days earlier. My fingers were now stubby with peeling purple gel polish. My fingernails were chipped and cracked. They were ready for battle.
I began with a short strand of braided hair. Slowly, untwisting, my locs pulled & resisted my determined fingers. After several minutes, a thatch of curly hair was in my hand. Sweat was on my forehead. It would be a long night.
A Field Guide to Fashion
1. Use fabric to create a fantasy
2. Think outside of the box
3. Don't miss the chance to show off
4. Demonstrate your stylin’ expertise
5. No polyester
6. Easy on the chiffon
7. I'm touchy about tulle
8. Examine Avant Garde designers
9. Worship their designs
10. They will guide
11. Your critical eye
12. Across a landscape of silk
13. Searching for Egyptian cotton
14. Something worthy of your hands
15. That seem to always bleed
If We look Through A Double Mirror
We see beyond ourselves
Ourselves beyond
The masks we wear
Hiding our true selves
Because we fear what
Others might say
What of what others might say
we fear unknown words
Unknown thoughts
Covering our ears
We cannot hear
Silent words
But we must think
Beyond our fear
See our true selves
Beyond the double mirror
Invitation from a Wounded Heart
Come, see the hole
in the center
of my heart
Look. view the blood
flowing unchecked,
draining me
Say, what is on your lips
no words can heal
this injury
But, you can try
Shirley Jones-Luke is a
poet and a writer from Boston, Mass. Ms. Luke is an alumna of Emerson College
where she received an MFA in Creative Writing. Her preferred genres are poetry
and nonfiction. Shirley was a participant during the summer of 2018 at Voices
of Our Nation (VONA), Tin House and Breadloaf Writer's Conferences.